Stepmonster
by mrsProbie
Summary: Hermione's stepmother makes Hermione feel like life's not worth living.


**Stepmonster**

"Dad," I began, "I need to talk to you."

"All right, go ahead," he said, gesturing across the table.

I glanced tentatively at my stepmother. "Alone."

She raised an eyebrow. "Anything you want to tell your dad, you can tell him in front of me. We're a team. This family is a team."

"Really," I said, eyes narrowing, "I think it would be best if you left." This was true on so many levels, extending far past the conversation- and she knew it. When I first met this woman, I figured she and my dad would date for a while, then they'd break up and I'd never have to see her again.

What I did _not_ expect was for her to move in after they'd been dating for two months. I also did not expect for my dad- formerly a serious penny pincher with a tight wallet- to start splurging on things for her. And the thing I least expected? For her to get pregnant after they'd been dating for six months. _Six months._

Fortunately (and I do not feel bad in the least for saying this), she had a miscarriage before the little demon spawn could be brought into this world. I don't know what I would have done if the child had been born; start cutting again, possibly. (The only reason I'd stopped was because Harry had threatened to tell Professor Lupin- my favorite professor- what I was doing. That would have been embarrassing to the twenty-seventh degree, so I returned to simply huddling underneath the covers of my bed, crying myself to sleep.)

"Hermione," my father said, his tone that of a warning, "Amelia's right. Whatever you need to tell me, you can tell her as well."

I sighed, looking down. "I just wanted to tell you that things are going well in school." Amelia (my stepmother, as you've probably managed to figure out) did not know I was a witch, so this was an excellent cover story. What I'd really wanted to tell him was that I hated Amelia with a fiery passion, that she made me feel like I wasn't worth the effort everyone else was making to keep me alive, that I wanted desperately to end my existence.

I couldn't bring myself to say all of this in front of her, though. She would be satisfied, then, I felt. She would have brought me down sufficiently. She would know that _I _knew that I was no longer on the top of my dad's list.

"Oh, really?" he said, smiling widely. "What kind of grades have you been getting? How are your friends, Harry and- oh, what's his name? The redhead?"

"Ron," I supplied. "They're doing well. And my grades are good. I'm having some issues in Chemistry-" this was our code word for Potions- "but I'm pretty sure I'm passing everything else 'with flying colors,' as Prof- Mr. Flitwick put it."

"What about that Malfoy boy you keep complaining about?" Amelia asked. "Have things gotten any better with him?"

I paused, biting my lip. "I punched him in the face."

Her jaw dropped as quickly as my chin. "Hermione! Violence is not the answer!"

"I couldn't help it," I muttered, crossing my arms. "He deserved it. Buckbeak got killed, and Malfoy was talking about doing all sorts of horrible, horrible things with his- Buckbeak's, I mean, body. And I've been taking all these extra classes and he's just a jerk in general, and I couldn't take it any more."

"None of those are-" Amelia began, but that was all I heard. I stormed out of the dining room, upstairs, and into my room, slamming the door behind me. For a few minutes, all I could register was the sound of my own sobbing as I weeped into my pillow. Why did she have to be there? That woman made everything worse.

I dug through my trunk, pulling out the razor blade Harry had forced me to put away. Harry wasn't here right now; he couldn't stop me. I slid the blade across my skin, watching the thin lines of blood widen and trickle slowly down my arm. Over and over again, I winced at the pain. Soon, I forgot why I was cutting myself in the first place. That was why I did it; to forget everything. If I could focus on the physical pain and distract myself from the emotions, I could keep myself in check.

I jumped at the sound of the air conditioner kicking in. Glancing furtively around the room, as if checking to make sure no one had seen me (I suppose it was just a habit from sharing a room with four giggly teenage girls), I returned the blade to its hiding place in my trunk, wrapped up in a lacy pink sock.

For the next few minutes, I continued to simply watch the blood run down my arm in tiny rivulets. When it clotted, I frowned. Soon, my mind would return to the real world, where things were much more complicated than a few droplets of red. Before that could happen, I settled into my bed, curled up beneath the sheets, and willed myself to go to sleep.

**A/N: This fic is based on events very real to me. Of course, things have been changed to fit the plot, but a large amount of the ending and Hermione's thoughts in the beginning come directly from my memory, completely unedited. I've been feeling a little down lately, so I figured I'd share.**


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